


Was It Worth It?

by ALittleShit



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleShit/pseuds/ALittleShit
Summary: The shinobi world was not a place of kindness or generosity.  Anyone could tell you that.  But what they can’t tell you, is how harsh and cruel it is.  How could they, when some things you have to experience for yourself?
Kudos: 5





	Was It Worth It?

**Author's Note:**

> *Inspired by ‘Ten Ways to Die’ by H.E. Gray on FFN

_“No one gets out of this life alive. So leave a footprint of your choice.”_

_\- Charles Franklin_

Hyuuga Hizashi walked towards his death, a farewell on his lips and apology in his eyes. He’d wanted to watch his son grow up and become a fine shinobi. Someone he would be proud of.

Really though, he was honoured. Honoured to give his life to protect his brother, his niece, his village… his son. But with each step, Death loomed over him, clutching at his heart and tearing at his nerves, as his mind screamed at him to ‘ _Run! Just run, what are you doing, you **fool**?!_’

But he was proud to die as a sacrifice to protect those he loved. It was his destiny, after all, for the Branch Family to protect the Main House, but even more than that, it was his  _ will _ and  _ desire _ to, for once, break the mold that he was forced into. That’s what he told himself as Kumo’s T&I squad tortured him and experimented on him. That’s what he repeated when they finally decided to gouge his eyes out while he was still alive, still conscious. 

It was what he whispered when there was no one to listen to his screams or care for his cries.

And those were his last words when he succumbed to the heavy darkness and all-consuming pain, never to wake again.

_ ‘It was an honour.’ _

And if he changed his mind, well, it’s not like anyone would know.

* * *

Nohara Rin struggled in her bonds. Kakashi would come, she knew he would. And after she got out and met up with him, they would finally end this nightmare and go home. She repeated it like a mantra, desperately clinging to any sort of hope that would keep her sane.

But a small corner of her mind kept whispering,  _ ‘What if, what if, what if—  _ No! _ ’ _ She scolded herself. She was going to get out of here. No matter what.

It wouldn’t be until later, after she’d forcibly become the container for the Sanbi, that she remembered her statement and fought to laugh hysterically.

All she wanted to do was go  _ home _ . What did she ever do to deserve this? She was kind and sweet, in a world where people slaughtered for a living and ruined lives for fun, she was a  _ medic. _ She  _ helped  _ people, shouldn’t she get better than this? Didn’t she  _ deserve _ better than this?

But she could feel the Sanbi struggling for the freedom it was so close to, saw Kakashi desperately fighting for their lives. 

She just wanted to go home. 

But she was smarter than that. The Sanbi was too close to the surface, and no matter how good Kakashi was, he should never have been able to take on so many fully-trained adult shinobi after tiring himself out trying to get here, much less while being distracted trying to keep her alive and create an opening for the both of them to escape. It must have been a set-up, a trap. They weren’t trying to keep them here, it was just for show. Dread rose in her as she connected the dots of what must have been their actual plan.

They wanted to release the Sanbi on Konoha.

Despair made her limbs shake and threatened to swallow her whole as she remembered from so long ago, when her greatest worries were if Obito was going to show up on time, or her Academy class rankings were adequate —

_ ‘— when a jinchuuriki dies, the tailed beast within dies as well.’ _

She thought of Konoha, of Obito who gave his life to save them, of Minato-sensei who trained them and protected them, of Kakashi who had lost so much at so little but still kept on giving, of her parents, Kushina-nee, her friends. Surely, she could give herself for their safety — one loss to save many, a small price to pay.

And still, all she wanted to do was go home.

One flash of blinding light as the sound of chirping filled the clearing, and before she could — think, hesitate,  _ run _ — she jumped in front of Kakashi’s sparking hand, taking advantage of one of  _ chidori _ ’s few weaknesses.

And then there was a  _ hand through her chest _ and pain.  _ Pain, pain, make it stop —  _ please!  _ Please, please, please… _

Oh. She was crying. Kakashi — her long-time crush, teammate, her  _ friend _ — oh, he looked like  _ he _ had been the one stabbed in the heart, tears pouring from both his eyes and a horror-stricken look on his face. 

_ Obito… Are you crying for me too? _

Rin smiled at him, despite the pain.

_ 'Obito, Kakashi… don’t cry, ne?’ _

As her life slipped from her fingers, she thought the sacrifice was worth it. One loss for the lives of many.

She’d just wanted to go home.

* * *

Uchiha Shisui could only feel blinding pain.  _ Pain, pain, pain _ , went through his head like an apathetic chant. The only thing keeping him upright was the need to get to Itachi, yes, he needed to get there, one foot, another, get up when you stumble —  _ get  _ **_UP!_ ** Keep going, don’t fall, _ you have to make it there. _

He lost track of time as he forced his body as fast as it could go, everything a haze of pain,  _ pain,  _ **pain** _.  _ And oh, he made it. He idly wondered if he should be cheering or something.

Itachi was standing there, stricken, eyes wide and terror in his gaze. Had it been any other situation, Shisui would have laughed. Little Itachi had never shown so much emotion on his face, not even in the heat of battle. How ironic, the person to break his calm facade into a look of horror would be his best friend, when all the enemy nin could not. 

Oh right, he still had something to do. He was becoming woozy with the blood loss — that really wasn’t a good thing. But he still had to do something. He had to make a difference, he didn’t just want to fade away here. Against his better instincts, he stabbed two fingers into his left eye, his last eye, and dug it out, slowly, excruciatingly. He’d positioned it all perfectly, according to plan, just to make that one small difference.

He held it out, waiting to feel it lifted from his hand tentatively. And  _ Itachi _ , he was so,  _ so _ sorry, for giving him this burden, for his family, because Itachi didn’t  _ deserve _ this, should never have been  _ involved _ in a coup he opposed, was so  _ good _ and  _ pure _ in a world that thrived on darkness. The words never came out, so despite the pain and the fear and the blankness of knowing what he was going to do, well, for Itachi’s sake, he smiled. Because he could do anything for Itachi, for the village he loved so much, was so dedicated to protecting… even smile as he pushed himself off the cliff he was standing on.

As he fell, he thought of Itachi, of what he was doing to him, trying to give him the Mangekyo Sharingan, of how much they’d tried to prevent the coup only for it to happen anyways. But he thought of everything he’d just done, to protect the village, to protect his family.

No matter how terribly he died, he’d made a difference. He’d  _ mattered. _

He didn’t know what he’d done, wouldn’t be able to look back later and reminisce. He would never know how his efforts still led to the absolute massacre of his clan, by Itachi no less. He would never know how much Danzo ruined things and used his eye as a failsafe, no. He died thinking he made a difference, that he’d  _ changed  _ something, changed it for the better. 

__

After that? Well, he was dead.

__

And the dead don’t matter.

* * *

Senju Nawaki was ecstatic. His sister had given him their grandfather’s necklace on his birthday yesterday. She  _ believed  _ in him, believed he could be Hokage one day. He wondered if she knew how much that meant to him. 

As he sped through the unfamiliar leafy terrain with his team, he wondered about the future, what it would bring, the things he would learn, the people he would meet. Keeping a keen eye on his surroundings (whether sensei was there or not, he still had a mission to take care of too), he followed sedately after his sensei, in formation with his teammates.

They all paused when Haruki-sensei held up a hand, the limber fingers twitching into signs for basic code.

_ ‘Stop, reevaluate situation. Not adding up. Be quiet. Stay alert.’ _

Suddenly extremely aware, Nawaki carefully perused his surroundings, unable to find what Haruki-sensei had been worried about. He dropped to the ground of the empty terrain, missing their sensei’s panicked hand sign to stop and drawback, but no one able to make any sound for fear that it would set off a trap or alert an enemy.

Oblivious, he carefully stalked around in full-stealth mode, not seeing anything worth freaking out over. Confused, he looked back at his sensei’s pale face, mildly worried as to what had him so worked up.

_ ‘ _ **_Don’t. Move._ ** _ ’ _ Haruki-sensei signaled. Bewildered and unknowing of the danger he was in, but trusting in his sensei’s directions, he froze in place, but…  _ something _ wasn’t quite… —  _ there! _

In the corner of his eye, a flash of metal forced him to jump to the side to avoid being skewered. 

Internally, he huffed. He’d been hoping for a smooth courier mission so he could go home and bug Nee-chan before she left for the frontlines again. It was war, afterall, and she was gone more and more often, especially after being dubbed one of the ‘Legendary  _ Sannin _ ,’ and he was afraid that maybe she might not come back next time.

He should’ve been more worried about himself. 

He never landed — at least, not in one piece. He had nearly stepped on a tripwire earlier, unbeknownst to himself, which was the reason his team had frozen, having been in just the right angle to catch the barely-there reflection of light. In dodging the sudden barrage of weapons, he’d nicked it,  _ just  _ enough to set it off. It was kind of funny how life worked that way.

Just as the set-up was triggered, he thought about how proud his sister would be when he told her how he kicked the enemy-nin’s butt. 

And then he knew only pain, an explosion ripping through his fragile body, before… nothing, his only identifiable feature, his beloved necklace painted with his own blood.

Yesterday had been his twelfth birthday. He had exited the gates this morning with a cheerful smile and lazy wave, planning on telling his big sister all about his mission when he got back, how he was that much closer to becoming Hokage. A small boy with big dreams.

He was twelve.

He never got the chance to grow up.

* * *

Namikaze Minato stared at his newborn son, as if, if he stared hard enough, he would embed the image in his brain past death — as if his child held the answers to their salvation. 

_ (if he’d lived, he would’ve laughed at the irony) _

He sort of wanted to cry, thinking about what he was going to do, what he was going to force upon his child. He loved Kushina, but he, more than anyone who wasn’t a jinchuuriki themselves, knew the burden she carried. He also knew that in addition to the burden he was going to force on his son’s shoulders, he wouldn’t have parents to help him through it either. Kushina, no matter how strong a woman, would likely die from the extraction, and he — well, he was going to be killed by his own creation. He kind of wanted to laugh hysterically too.

_ ‘Hokage-sama, we need you at the front lines, now!’ _

He loved his village, loved it so much it hurt. But for once, he wanted to let someone else take point, let someone  _ else _ bear the responsibility. He didn’t want to die.

He was scared.

He was twenty-four years old, leader of Konoha, and had his whole life stretched out in front of him. He was going to be a  _ father _ , have a  _ family.  _

_ He wasn’t done. _

_ He still had so much to do. _

_ He wasn’t  _ **_ready_ ** _. _

But he took a step. Then another. A sudden, infamous flash, and he was in front of the most fearsome being to ever walk the land. Pure, unadulterated  _ Killing Intent _ pressed down on him —  _ what was he  _ **doing** _ , he should be  _ running **,** **_run,_ ** **run** **_, RUN_ ** \- No.

No. 

He was Namikaze Minato, orphan-turned-war-hero, the fastest man to ever live in the Elemental Nations — he was the goddamn Yellow Flash and Yondaime Hokage. And like every other challenge he’d defeated, he damn well was going to destroy this one too. Even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

And defeat it he did. 

He watched as the Shinigami himself rose and took his soul, sealed half the Kyuubi into his son as tears poured down his face, impaled himself on the Kyuubi’s claw as it took a last ditch effort to destroy it’s to-be container, his wife in a similar position just in front of him, shaky breathing in his ear, all the louder in the sudden silence post-battle.

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. They were wrong. He saw the future. Everything that could have been — everything that  _ should  _ have been. 

His family playing at the park, Naruto on his first day at the Academy, Kushina teaching their children their heritage of chakra chains and fuinjutsu, passing down the Rasengan. Little snippets flashed before his eyes, a desperate ache stuck in his chest that had nothing to do with the claw that had gouged a hole in his torso.

He had always been the perfect shinobi. Able to separate between being home and on a mission, cold and ruthless in the face of battle, a terrifying, relentless opponent who’d struck fear into the heart of his enemies that would last even a decade after his death. A good shinobi lived and died for their village.

But a good parent would have lived for their child.

And in the silence following the Kyuubi’s defeat, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but curse Konoha. In that moment he  _ hated _ ,  **hated** them. Hated everything that took away what could have been, even as he smiled one last time for his son, who wouldn’t even  _ remember _ them.

He hated them so,  _ so _ much. No, not quite because he would die.

But because he’d had so much to live for.

* * *

The shinobi world was not a place of kindness or generosity. Anyone could tell you that. But what they can’t tell you, is how harsh and cruel it is. How could they, when some things you have to experience for yourself? 

And for those who aren’t the few lucky enough to live a long, full life  _ (because they so rarely do) _ , they know more than most just what they’re leaving behind.

Perhaps it’s more apt to say, ‘torn away from’?

Shinobi live life hard and fast, because they, more than any others, understand what it’s like to lose and be lost, so they take no liberties and enjoy what they have in the moment. It only takes that first brush with death, that loved one lost to negligence, incompetence that leads to loss of life — it’s all it takes to spur them into action.

But even they who dance so very carefully on the fine line between life and oblivion, can’t imagine Death — no one can. Perhaps it is for that very reason that it is so universally feared, even by those who bend the laws of physics like a hot knife through butter.

Live your life to the fullest, they say. But the only people who can tell you just how much? 

They’re already dead.

So whatever it is you’re hesitating to do — do it. Do it before it’s too late. So that when you look back and ask — 

_ ‘Was it worth it?’ _

— there’s only one answer.

_ ‘Yes.’ _


End file.
